


reach out and touch faith

by Vickydreadful



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Smut, ignoring the fact that wallachia doesn't exist anymore, not a fan from the games, only about the cartoon, tagging as it goes, trevorxalucard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vickydreadful/pseuds/Vickydreadful
Summary: At the beggining of the path there is a light, and this light can be the reflection of an angel or the flames of a fire, either way you will get burnt.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont, tag/as it goes
Kudos: 11





	reach out and touch faith

**Author's Note:**

> I am not Romanian and I am ignoring some facts about the country to write this fic, yes, I am trully sorry. If you are Romanian feel free to give tips about your country and culture.

"I have a chalk." 

"Okay." 

"I'll take the chalk, draw a door on the wall." 

"Continue." 

"The door magically appears." 

"Yes." 

"I pass it, I get to the gate." 

"Of course." 

"And... I'm gonna eat donuts." 

Trevor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his head hurt and his throat was parched, it was the fourth time only that day that he asked the same question to Ophelia.

"Ophelia, how long have you been here?" 

"Oh." The gray-haired lady took her fingers to her lips and thought. " _Cuatro años_ , Dr. Belmont, if my memory serves me right." 

Ophelia was the oldest patient Trevor had and the most complicated. Her sweet face and deep eyes hid things he had never been able to decipher. She talked about fairies and fauns and an endless labyrinth, talking about kingdoms and kings and a family that had never existed. A survivor of the Spanish Civil War, then a survivor of Francoist and finally a survivor of the Spanish guerrilla, forever trapped in a madhouse by the American government. 

Trevor felt sorry, every time he would come to the clinic and look at the little lady, whispering to the walls and refusing to take her medication, he remembered why he took his psychiatry specialization, despite his family's aversion. 

_ And now they're dead.  _ He thought. 

Ophelia was a calm patient most days, she did not cause confusion or riots, but once a month she disappeared. Without images from the security camera, without her door being opened, nothing, the woman simply vanished from her own room and appeared one day later as if nothing had happened. Every month Trevor would ask her how the hell she got out of her room, the answer was always the same.

A chalk. A magic chalk she used to open a magic door on the wall. 

Nothing more and Ophelia would be extremely hurt if they called her a liar, she hated being called a liar. 

"Ophelia." Trevor called her again, sitting on the end of the iron chair and holding the lady's hands between his. They trembled and were cold. "If this continues, we will be forced to remove your painting material." 

Ophelia's eyes widened and she rose sharply, Trevor followed her, stretching his arms to support her in case she needed it, but Ophelia stood without any problem, back arched, eyes challenging, in those moments Trevor could see the brightness of the warrior she once was. Which she still was. 

" _Hijo de la puta_." She murmured, looking behind Trevor's back at the man's face looking through the door glass. " _Este hombre apesta, no confio en él_."

"Mrs. Vidal, I don't understand Spanish." Trevor hated it when she started speaking Spanish, he couldn't understand a word. But he didn't have time to speak anything else because Ophelia, with an enormous force, punched him in the nose. 

Trevor lost his balance and took two steps back, grabbing his nose and closing it, preventing the blood from staining his coat. 

He heard the metallic click of the door opening and the hurried steps of the nurses, before they could reach Ophelia, he raised his hands and asked them to wait. Ophelia took a deep breath and her frown indicated that she was also in pain. 

She hated being called by her stepfather's last name. She'd rather live like a nameless woman than recognize his mother's marriage to a Nazi general. 

" _No me llames así_." She said in anger, but her face softened and she approached Trevor, who still held his nose. " _Me llamo Ophelia. Solo Ophelia._ " 

Trevor, after making sure his nose wasn't broken, took another deep breath and nodded.

The nurses retreated and the door closed, Ophelia, turned and walked to the window, observing the movement of the park outside, beyond the fences of the sanatorium. She didn't belong there, Trevor fought every day, every meeting, asked, begged for her to be discharged. But Ophelia didn't help at all by disappearing in the middle of the night to eat donuts. 

"Why the donuts?" He asked, pulling his hair out of his face.

"It's the only thing I like about this country." She answered in English. Her fingers, still trembling, grabbing the white grid from the window, the wind blew her hair lightly and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. 

"You like me, too." Trevor laughed, putting his hands in his jeans pocket. 

"But you're not _American, eres Romanian."_ She answered and looked at Trevor again, this time her eyes were dark as closed weather of a cold winter, a warning few would understand. "Life reserves tragic things for you Trevor Belmont." She said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "And you will suffer gladly, with a smile on your face and blood on your hands." 

"And how do you know this, _Ophelia_ _?  _ "He asked, imitating her Spanish accent. 

" _El_ __hombre pálido_."  _ She  responded, lying down and turning her back on Trevor. 

He didn't understand Spanish very well, but  _ el hombre pálido  _ was a constant in Ophelia's narrative, no nurse liked to talk to the lady about it, Ophelia knew things she couldn't, couldn't know, and this situation even caused an emergency gossip meeting, Trevor had never felt as bored as he did at that meeting, but despite efforts to find out who had revealed personal information from the staff to Ophelia, the culprit was never found, just as they never found out who let her out. When asked about all this, Ophelia only replied that  _ el hombre pálido _ had told her about everything. 

Trevor looked around the small room, drawings of labyrinths, fauns, fairies and a beautiful woman with long black hair. 

In the background, near the window and bound by white ribbons was the pale man, his long pointy fingers and his cadaverous mouth opened in a guttural cry, his hands in front of his face and in his palms eyes without iris, just the black pupil, small, threatening, staring at anyone watching him. 

Trevor had often dreamed of this vision, a pale, naked, cadaverous man walking towards him, almost comically. 

Trevor took a third deep breath and before leaving the room, as a sincere apology to Ophelia, pronounced the only word he knew in Spanish. 

" _Arriba!_ "

\----- 

The Belial Institute for War Survivors was located at the main exit of Idaho, almost reaching the border with Canada, its imposing building was surrounded by trees and a vast forest, further ahead a park could be seen during the day, during the night, everything was a breu. Despite its name, the Institute actually functioned as a private but common sanatorium, at the time it was created, in the mid-1950s, the sanatorium served to house survivors and war veterans who could no longer assimilate the reality, but knowing the history of the United States, Trevor well knew that there was simply a deposit of threats to the government. 

In 1970 the institute was finally privatized and bought by a French magnate, transforming the buildings and accepting patients with great surnames, after a while the survivors and veterans were forgotten and gradually died inside their own psychosis. 

Trevor didn't want Ophelia to be one of those cases. 

He had entered medical school at the age of 21 and at the age of 28 was already three years working for The Institute. He had seen much more problematic patients discharged, but Ophelia, even with all her lucidity, was still locked in the small room on the fifth floor. 

But Trevor had to admit to himself that staying at the Institute was the best way out of every way, Ophelia had no relatives, no resources to live on her own, a lady of almost 80 would not get a job or social security. She would be alone on the streets, at least in the Institute she had Trevor and her night escapades. 

It was sad to recognize that, for some people, confinement was the only possible form of freedom. 

"You're doing it again." Sarah said, putting a plate of food in front of Trevor, who got scared and left his daydreams. "You're flying to a place I don't know." 

He faced the plate in front of him, instant noodles, only Sarah to serve something like that to her own brother. 

"You'll kill me with malnutrition." He murmured, taking the fork anyway. 

"No, you'll kill yourself with malnutrition." She just said, crossing her legs. 

Trevor and Sarah lived in a simple house 2km from the Institute, although the Belmont were influential in Romania, the younger brothers preferred to live alone and on their own in America, Trevor rented the house as soon as he arrived, its modest, country architecture had conquered him, the house was very much like the modest house of his grandparents on south of Wallachia. They moved in the next day. 

"Ophelia ran away again." He said, putting in another fork. Sarah evoked only one eyebrow and smiled. 

"Donuts?" 

"Damn donuts." He said, dropping his cutlery and staring at his sister who was trying to stifle a laugh. "What's so special about donuts? They serve dounuts in the Institute canteen." 

Sarah laughed louder this time, throwing her long brown hair back. "Nothing compares to food outside a hospital, Trevor." 

He just nodded and continued eating in silence, his thoughts returning to Ophelia and the pale man who decorated her wall. He did not feel Sarah's eyes on him, but he knew they were worried. 

"Sypha called." Sarah said, stealing a noodle from Trevor's plate. "I was in the shower and couldn't get to the phone, but she left a message, asked you to confirm attendance at the conference." 

"I'm not going." He said, getting up from the wooden chair and walking quickly to the kitchen, too bright for his taste. Trevor put the plate in the sink and reached the sponge in the window. 

" _Aiurea_ __?_ "  _ Sarah exclaimed  in Romanian, making Trevor roll his eyes. Sarah only did that when she was determined. "What do you mean you won't?" 

"I don't have time to go to Romania, Sarah." He rubbed the cutlery and left it on aside, turning to Sarah. 

Her younger sister was... Different, Sarah had suffered a horrible accident when both were children, the Belmont house caught fire in the early hours, Trevor managed to escape through the back doors, but Sarah had been trapped inside, her hands hitting the purple window of her bedroom on the second floor. Trevor tried to get back, but the firefighters held him tight as others tried to cross the flames towards the girl. When the fire reached the room and Trevor saw the flames throwing its shadow on Sarah he just whispered softly:  _ Bond.  _

Jump.

And his sister jumped, she went through the purple glazing and her little body fell on the grass with a sound that Trevor would never forget. Her pink dress suddenly turned a sea of red and when she recovered, her skin had become full of small scars, covering practically her entire body. 

More adult, the scars didn't disappear and Sarah did her best not to show them. 

"Hector would be happy to release you, Trevor." He hated it when his sister was right.

Hector was the technician in charge of the Institute, three years older than Trevor, but sometimes who needed to give the orders was Trevor and he hated leaving his patients in Hector's hands, he believed that everything could be solved by medication and sedation, while Trevor believed that forming a line of work without invasive medication was the best. 

"It's exactly because Hector would let me go that I shouldn't, Sarah." He wiped his hands in his jeans and wished to teleport to the bathroom. "He's irresponsible and a cruel doctor." 

"You can't get stuck in the Institute because of a patient, Trevor," Sarah said, walking up to him and putting her hands on her brother's face, forcing him to face her. "You need to let her go." 

Trevor stared into his sister's brown eyes, that same glow that had been marked in his memory forever, like a scar that wouldn't heal and wouldn't stop hurting. That was the only glow Trevor saw in his sister's eyes. 

"I know I have to let her go." He mumbled and left his sister's grip, walking towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms and the only bathroom in the house. "But I can't, Sarah." 

He heard his sister sigh and kept going up the stairs, hands tired on the wooden handrail. 

Trevor knew that at some point he would have to go back to Romania, face Sypha and all the memories he left behind, the good memories and the bad memories. The death of his parents, the fire at St. Joseph's Cathedral in Bucharest and finally the ruins of his home in Wallachia. He could not escape forever from the terror and panic attacks that plagued him, he as a psychiatrist should know this more than anyone, but every time Sypha invited him to spend Christmas, or to some obviously forged conference, he would dodge and use Ophelia and her patients as an excuse, what he did not accept was that Ophelia was already there before he arrived and she survived without any problems. 

Trevor needed to stop hiding his feelings behind the needs of others. 

When his parents died he hid the pain behind George Kimpman's hallucinations, he didn't go to the funeral or visit the grave. 

In the week of Sypha's conference, it would be the one-year anniversary of his mother and father's death and for the first time Sarah had encouraged him to go, she had never done so. 

In the bath he pondered on the subject, the pros and cons of returning to his city, the pro was beer, the cons, well, the rest. And the conference would still be close to Samhain, or Halloween for Americans. Trevor hated Samhain in Romania, drunken tourists mired in the streets of Transylvania, dressed as Dracula with his plastic teeth that were left in piles in the middle of the street after the party. That's when they didn't try to invade Tepes Castle, which the oldest people swore was the habitat of the real Vlad Dracula. If the Tepes were really Vlad's descendants, then it would all make more sense. 

When Trevor finally laid his head on his pillow and looked up at the ceiling, his thoughts flew to Wallachia, his homeland, to its vast fields and dark forests. He missed his home and he missed Sypha. But he wanted her to come to him and not force him to face his fears. 

_ That's how therapy works, Belmont.  _ She had once said. 

He blamed Sarah for putting Sypha in his path and blamed himself for letting Sypha specialize in psychiatry too. Despite efforts to get his brain to rest, Trevor went to sleep knowing that in two days he would be returning to Romania. 

\-----

Transylvania was everything Trevor loved and everything Trevor hated at once. 

The gothic and country architecture rising up in the crowd and its cathedrals throwing their shadows over the local commerce was one of Trevor's favorite things, but the tourists... Ah the tourists. 

He convinced Sypha not to book a hotel in Wallachia, he didn't know if he was really prepared to find acquaintances and old enemies, so he decided to book a hotel on the border with Wallachia, from his window he could see the fields and the plantations, he missed his homeland, he couldn't deny it. 

Trevor didn't unpack, he just opened them and put them by the bed, wondering what combination of brown and beige he would use to find Sypha, not that he was interested in his friend, but he felt nervous as if he was going on a date. 

He hadn't seen Sypha since he left Romania six years ago when he switched from Targoviste Public University to Harvard, it was the last time he used the family name to get anything, and his father was honored to open the doors of Medicine to Trevor, what he didn't expect was that his son would specialize in Psychiatry and not Surgeon or General Practitioner as he called them "real professions”. 

Since then, he no longer communicated with his parents and only remembered them when Maria called, telling him that his parents had died as a result of a gas leak in the hill residences. 

Maria hung up on him that day, she had never forgiven Trevor for leaving the family the way he had, Maria was the housekeeper, but she was Trevor's mother when Lady Belmont was too drunk to help him go to the bathroom or make meals. Maria was Trevor's only regret. 

When the will came he only ordered his lawyer to declare that the house would go under Trevor's name but that it would remain in Maria Zanfaz's possession. The woman called him crying when she received the news, disappointed that Trevor wouldn’t finally return to Wallachia to run his parents' company, but Trevor just hired someone to take care of everything and until then the person was making the right decision. One of the houses he sold for an absurdly low price to Sypha and the other he rented to a Hungarian couple. 

He didn't need the money, but yet every month he received a message from his accountant, telling him that the money had been transferred to his private account in Targoviste. If he and Sarah wanted it, they wouldn't have to work for the rest of their lives. 

Trevor sighed and walked to the phone next to the huge bed in the center of the room, he entered Sypha's phone numbers and waited. 

" _ Bună!"  _ Sypha screamed on the other end of the phone and Trevor laughed, her friend never changed. 

" _ Bună, Sypha _ ." He responded by sitting on the bed. "How are you?" 

"Trevor Belmont!" She screamed again and Trevor heard a creaking chair. "Your accent is getting more and more like that of an American." 

"And you still suck at English." He wrapped the phone cord around his wrist and waited for Sypha to stop cursing him. "How are you?" 

"Well, well, well. Nervous." She said. "It's the first conference I've organized, a lot of people confirmed and not enough chairs in the clinic." He sighed. 

"Nothing that can't be solved calmly, without stress." He laughed. 

"What did you mean by that,  _ măgar?  _ " 

Trevor missed Sypha so much. "Anyway, you got a way to stop by the clinic? I want to talk to you about a patient." Her voice suddenly sounded serious and nervous, the kind of voice Sypha used when something was wrong. "I know this would imply your coming to Wallachia to be earlier, but I really need to talk to you in person." 

"How early?" Trevor asked and he threw himself into bed and closed his eyes. 

"A week?"

"A week?! That means today!" He got up on his own. "Why do you do this to me?" He murmured. 

"Wallachia is huge, Trevor. What are the odds of you finding someone?" 

\----- 

Trevor stared into Sypha's eyes, which were watching him anxiously. He swallowed dry, was controlling himself to not yell at her, but the woman was urging him to be mean. 

"The odds are huge, Sypha!" He yelled and she burst out laughing. 

Sypha had certainly changed a lot, she had cut her big red hair in a military style, her face covered with freckles had aged little, but her big mischievous blue eyes remained the same. 

"Who did you find?" She asked when she could calm down. 

"Who didn't I find?" Trevor asked angry and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and looking away from his friend's office door. The words "Sypha Belnaldes" written in gold celebrated the acquisition that Trevor had never achieved, respect. 

But that was completely his and his loud mouth fault. 

"To begin with, the entire Torstand family was in the station." 

"Oh, I love the Torstands." 

"Yes, for it was not you who 'deflowered' their daughter and disappeared." Trevor closed his eyes as he remembered the rifle pointing at his face. 

"They were happy that their daughter was going to marry the heir to the mine." Sypha said and walked towards Trevor, putting her hand on his cheek and turning his face to her. "I'm glad you're here." She said melancholy, her voice lower than usual. 

Trevor then hugged her, burying his face in her friend's smelly hair, he had missed Sypha so much that he was even missing words. 

"I missed you, Sypha Belnaldes."

"I missed you too, Trevor Belmont." 

They separated after a few minutes and Trevor saw the reflection of a tear descending on his friend's beautiful face, but he pretended not to see, he knew how proud Sypha was. 

The woman gracefully walked to her marble table and sat on her leather chair. Her coat was hanging from the backrest. Sypha crossed her legs and pointed to the chair on the other side of the table, Trevor sat down and put the backpack down. 

"I believe the small talk will be left for later." He concluded when she pulled a brown folder out of the middle of other colored folders. 

Something was written at the top, but it was very rushed handwriting and he couldn't read it. 

"You're right." She caressed the opening of the folders with nervous fingers, as if she was still deciding whether to show Trevor or not. "I got this envelope a month ago." She started, her face getting tense. "I didn't really know what to do, but I didn't want to call you either, so I decided to wait until you were here," she handed the folder to Trevor, the words said 'Belmont' in cursive handwriting. He opened the envelope, but before he could remove the contents, Sypha put her hands on his. "This is about the accident, Trevor." 

Trevor looked at her and Sypha was now biting her lip, her whole body trembling with nervousness. 

"The accident with my parents?" 

She took a deep breath before she said:

"It's about the fire." 

Trevor's hands stopped and his throat closed. 

_ The fire.  _

"What about the fire?" 

Sypha just took her hands off Trevor's and averted her eyes, tears starting to form. 

Trevor then pulled the documents out of the folder. The first picture was the one in the newspapers at the time, the beautiful house in the mountains, rustic wooden columns and colored glass windows. The photo showed exactly the window that Sarah threw herself from. 

The next photo was of a scribbled and burning note ' _ Voi fi acasă în curând, te iubesc.'  _

I'll be home soon, I love you.

Trevor didn't remember that note. But there was a lot he didn't remember. 

The next documents were newspaper clippings that Trevor didn't pay much attention to, he had read them all. 

Suddenly a picture caught his attention. 

An empty bottle fallen in the middle of some rubble, the cap fallen a few inches away. In the corner of the photo was written.  _ Lithium.  _ Trevor looked desperately at Sypha, but the woman just nodded so he'd continue. 

The next image was a photo of a police document. 

"The _ expertise confirms that the front door of the house was last locked from the outside, it also clarifies that the spare key, commented by the family, had disappeared.  _

_ The presence of the substance Lithium is palpable at the crime scene. Attributing the fire as criminal." Trevor  _ stopped breathing at that moment and heard Sypha crying, but he couldn't take his eyes off the photo. 

He had never had that information, he had never known of Lithium presence in the rubble of the house, no newspaper had talked about it and the police had even concluded the case as an accident. He felt his face squirming, but continued to look at the other documents, after more pictures of the rubble he came across another picture of Lithium's bottle, this time the bottle was closed and on a brown table, probably at the police station. And then one more police document. 

"According to _ the testimony of the housekeeper, Lucia Priori, the door to the main suite of the house was locked which made it impossible for her to help the victim out of the room. Lithium presence at the crime scene indicates that the fire was criminal." _

And finally one last picture. A small house on top of a hill, the white house contrasting with the blue sky background. 

That wasn't Trevor's house. 

He looked full of doubts at Sypha, the woman had already recovered and crossed her hands on the table. 

"That's not my house." He said, but something in Sypha's expression indicated she already knew that. 

"A year ago a very strange fire shook the rural area of Wallachia. That house in the photo belongs to a woman named Lisa. You don’t know her, her name only became famous after you moved out. She lived alone in this house on the highest hill in the region, completely isolated, twice a week the housekeeper, Lucia Priori went to the house and helped her with the housework. Some of the residents even commented that Lisa would leave the house in winter and stay three months without returning. They couldn't tell where she was going. On October 30, 1993, the housekeeper arrived at the house and smelled a very strange gas, she tried to call Lisa, but the woman did not answer, when she arrived at the suite the door was locked and Lisa did not answer, but by the lock, the housekeeper said that she could see Lisa lying in the bed, unconscious. Not knowing what to do, she ran to call the firemen, but could not, the fire started in the kitchen and took part of the house quickly, Lucia did not know what to do and tried to break the door down, but it was impossible. She found herself in a position where she had to choose whether to stay in the house and die, or run to the nearest neighbor at the bottom of the hill," Sypha took one of the pictures of the rubble and put it on top of the pile, her hand shaking a bit. "I don't need to tell you that the firemen didn't arrive in time. Lisa burned to death inside her own house and the news in the paper said it was an accident. Lisa was very dear to the community and it shook Wallachia pretty bad," Sypha then took another folder, this time a patient file like Trevor had back in the Institute. "But things didn't stop there, a week later the community found out where she was going three months in the year." She dropped a picture in front of Trevor. It was a picture of a man and a woman, he was tall with broad shoulders and triumphant posture, black hair stuck in a low ponytail. The woman, a blonde with blue eyes, had loose hair falling on her shoulders while the man was not smiling, her smile was so beautiful that Trevor had to look away. "She was married to none other than Vlad Tepes." Trevor's head turned on hearing the name. Vlad Tepes was simply the most influential man in all of Romania. "Yes, I know... When he arrived in Romania after a business trip and asked about his wife, he freaked out." 

"The neighbors never saw him there?" Trevor questioned, still trying to understand what that had to do with the fire in his house.

"Never." Sypha answered. "To Lisa's neighbors and relatives, that marriage never existed, but through the eyes of the Church, they were married.

Trevor leaned against the chair and dropped the picture on the table. 

"Interesting story, Sypha, but what does that have to do with me?" 

"In the house was also found Lithium, Trevor, as in yours." Sypha separated the photos side by side. "And in the case of Lisa Tepes, the police also ignored that someone from the outside locked the doors and used Lithium to set the house on fire." 

"Lithium is a bipolar disorder medicine, Sypha..." 

"And in its neutral form it's pyrophoric." Sypha said it as if Trevor knew what pyrophoric means. "It means it spontaneously burns with the mixture of certain gases." 

"Like the one in the kitchen." It wasn't a question. 

"Like the one in the kitchen." Sypha answered anyway. 

Trevor saw where this conversation led, Sypha had fallen into a conspiracy theory. 

"It's just a coincidence." He got up, walking around the brown room, wanting to get away from the pictures. 

"Coincidence?" Sypha followed him and grabbed his arm. "That's not a coincidence, Trevor." Her voice got angry. "Someone set fire to your house 10 years ago, using Lithium and even with all the evidence the police closed the case as an accident. A year ago someone burned a woman alive inside her house, using Lithium and even with all the evidence the police closed the case as an accident!" Sypha put herself in front of Trevor and held him. "Do you really think this is a coincidence? Me getting this package? Someone wants to send a message, someone knows." 

"Who, Sypha? From whom did you get this?" Trevor changed, feeling his heartbeat deranged. 

"I don't know." She whispered closing her eyes. 

"And how do you trust that?" Suddenly the room was too hot and stuffy. 

"Because..." She started and swallowed dry. "Because Lisa and Vlad Tepes had a son, Alucard." Trevor was unconvinced and got rid of Sypha walking to a window and opening it strongly, the cold wind was welcome to his warm face. 

"And what the hell does all this have to do with you, Sypha?" 

"Because against all my arguments, all my evaluations and prescriptions, he's in here." She said and Trevor turned. 

"Shit." 

"Yes." Sypha sat down again putting her face between her hands. "He's stuck here, Trevor, for a year, sedated and being treated like crazy. No recommendation." Her blue eyes looked confused. "He has no record and no medical evaluation. He's a ghost patient." 

"You're his doctor. Can't you do anything?" 

"He's Carmilla's." 

_ Ah, explained. _

"And why all this now?" He walked quietly to Sypha's table. 

"I received this package at my house and magically a week later Carmila warned me she was leaving to Maternity Leave." 

"Did anyone have the guts?" 

"Incredible as it sounds, she's married and already has a kid." Sypha laughed at Trevor's scared face. "But anyway, she's leaving to Maternity Leave and her patients have been split between me and Striga. I got him." 

She had that look again of someone who knew something she didn't want to talk about, but she had to. She looked almost melancholic. But Trevor recognized that look, it was a look of sadness and forgiveness. 

"I had never really met him. The evaluations I did were based on Carmela's and the nurses' transcripts." Sypha began, taking the patient file again. She stretched it out for Trevor, but went back a bit before he could get it. "We know him, Trevor." 

"Oh, yeah? He studied with us?" Trevor took the file and opened it.

"It's Adrien." 

_ Stronger, faster, like this! That's it! Fuck me!  _

Trevor looked at the man in the photograph, golden hair that once was in his bed. 

“Oh, shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> See you!!


End file.
